


Here We Go Again

by cordeliadelayne



Category: Inception (2010)
Genre: Gen, Gen Work, all works out in the end, things not going to plan
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-15
Updated: 2016-04-15
Packaged: 2018-06-02 05:33:30
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,803
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6552973
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cordeliadelayne/pseuds/cordeliadelayne
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Being the best in the business doesn't mean that everyone will stop trying to kill you.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Here We Go Again

**Author's Note:**

> Originally posted to Livejournal in 2010.

Arthur was trying to concentrate, which was pretty hard now he'd become convinced that the Extractor he was currently working with was trying to get him killed. This wasn't down to the usual paranoia about working with a new guy (and it wasn't as if this was the first time he'd worked with an Extractor who wasn't Cobb) but the very careful analysis of the facts. Which were a) that the Architect the Extractor had hired was a moron with a hard on for the Louvre, and b) that the Extractor wouldn't know subtlety if it became a projection and punched him in the face.

Arthur was currently running at full tilt towards the safety deposit box in the bank, the only chance of not having his legs broken in the real world, as the dreamscape began collapsing all around him. He heard a crack and a ripping and looked up, sliding to a surprised halt, as the wall of the bank began to tear itself in half. This, this was definitely not good.

He leapt over and under falling chairs and desks, opened the safe and sighed. Nothing. The safe was empty.

And then he woke up.

* * * * *

“What the hell was that?” he was asking, pulling himself to a sitting position and then freezing, when he registered the gun being pointed in his face.

“That, was a test,” the man dressed in, of course, black, told him. Arthur looked up from the gun to the man's face. He didn’t recognise him.

“A test of what?” Arthur asked. His mind was racing, trying to find a way out of this, but so far he was coming up blank.

“You. And him.” The man twisted and pointed his gun at the Extractor. “He failed.”

In a dream Arthur would have been prepared for the shot, but there was always a moral dissonance on awakening. Things he would do without hesitation in the dream world weren't how he dealt with things in reality, so as the Extractor slumped backwards, dead, Arthur flinched and let his face betray his shock for a fraction of a second before clamping down on his feelings.

“And who are you working for?” he asked.

“My father,” the Mark said. “That's right, isn't it?”

The man with the gun nodded. “He wants you to teach his son how to defend himself against Extractors. And keep his secrets safe.”

Arthur nodded. The Mark had done pretty well on his own, but that was more because of the others' mistakes than their talents. If a high calibre Extractor wanted whatever information the Mark held dear though, the Mark would hand it over with a smile.

“Okay,” Arthur said. “But there are two things you need to know about me. I don't do guns in the real world.” He nodded at the gun still in his face which the man reluctantly put away. “And two, I use my own people.”

The man nodded. “My boss said you could choose your own team.”

“Don't I get a say in this?” the Mark asked.

“No.”

* * * * * *

“He _actually_ shot him? Dead? As in killed him?”

“ _Yes,_ ” Arthur said with a sigh. He was seriously regretting telling Eames the whole story, but it had seemed like the thing to do at the time.

“And this is something that you thought I might be interested in, is it? Working with maniacs?”

Arthur ignored the obvious retort that sprang to mind and flipped to his next thought. “I need a good forger for this job, and you're the best I could do at short notice.”

“Oh,” Eames said, with a open-mouthed laugh that showed off his teeth, “that's nice, that is. Ever thought to ask politely?”

Arthur shrugged. “You’d only assume you were dreaming.”

Eames snorted. “More than likely.” He stared at Arthur for a beat. He was dressed as usual, impeccably, but there was a slight indication that the Extractor's death had bothered him a lot more than he was saying in the way he wouldn't sit down, just stood there, his whole body screaming that he was on edge.

“Are you all right?” Eames asked. With anybody else he would have left by now, but Arthur was the best, which meant high winnings as well as high stakes.

Arthur shrugged, nodded, then sat down in the chair opposite Eames. “I need a good Architect. The best.”

“Ariadne,” Eames said with a nod. “You think it's too dangerous to bring her in, but you don't think this will work without her. Hmm. I notice you don’t show the same concern for my well being.”

Arthur shot him a look that he couldn't quite decipher. “You can look after yourself,” he said. Eames just hummed under his breath.

“You know where she is?” Eames asked. Arthur nodded and Eames mentally rolled his eyes at himself. Of course Arthur knew where she was. He was probably keeping tabs on all of them and knew what they all had for breakfast that morning.

“Cairo,” Arthur said. “She's just finished up a job in Cairo.”

“Right then,” Eames said. “Off to Cairo we go.”

* * * *

Ariadne was sipping at a glass of water, idly doodling in her notebook. She hadn't said anything for five minutes, not since Arthur had told her everything, including what had happened to the Extractor.

“What about the Architect?” she finally asked. “What happened to him?”

“They let him go,” Arthur said with a shrug. “They don't understand how important an Architect is. They just assumed the Extractor did all the work.”

Ariadne nodded, a small, annoyed smile on her face. Apparently she'd been encountering people of the same opinion lately.

“So how does this work then?” she asked, and just like that she was in. Eames shook his head in fond exasperation. He had to admire her fortitude if nothing else.

Arthur relaxed a fraction, though you could only tell if you were studying him as closely at the moment as Eames was.

“We work with the Mark, create worlds he's familiar with. Show him all the techniques we've learned. Teach him about forgers, how they work. Tell him how to spot what's real and what's not. Do everything we're not supposed to do. Show him how to bury his secrets and how to protect them.”

“We have to learn all of his secrets though, don't we? Isn’t that the dangerous part?”

Eames nodded. “Catching on quick as always,” he said with an approving nod. “How exactly are we going to stop from getting killed once this job is over?” He turned to Arthur and raised an eyebrow.

“How do you feel about a little kidnapping?” Arthur asked and Eames smiled. Trust Arthur to have a plan.

* * * * *

The dreamscape was perfect, some of Ariadne's best work and Eames was terribly impressed. And he'd even tell her so later. Arthur though was a revelation, and Eames was definitely not going to tell _him_ that.

The plan had been simple and had gone off without a hitch. All they'd had to do was get the Mark's father alone (Eames had impersonated a new chauffeur taking him from breakfast with his wife to lunch with his mistress) and implanted the idea that once their job was done with his son, he let them go. There'd been a bit of tweaking, some discussion about how to ensure that his armed goons followed through, but they were confident it had worked. Which only left the easy part.

* * * * * *

“Bit of an idiot, this one, isn't he, dear?” Eames asked Arthur.

“That's one word for him,” Arthur muttered and Eames laughed. It wasn't often that Arthur got this level of frustrated and if it wasn't going to cause them all real problems when they woke up, Eames would be enjoying every second of it.

As it was he returned to the Mark and tried, again, to explain how all this worked. It wasn't that difficult of a concept, he would have thought himself, and Ariadne had picked it up quickly enough. But then he supposed no one was quite like Ariadne.

At the moment she was sitting on a wall swinging her legs and looking particularly bored. She looked over at Arthur and raised both eyebrows. Arthur shrugged and went to join Eames. Maybe reinforcements would help.

“This is a dream,” Arthur said again, very slowly. “You know this. Your Father wanted us to show you how to protect yourself.”

“Okay,” the Mark said, but in such a dull way that Eames actually waved a hand in front of his face to see if he'd react. He blinked, slowly.

“There are ways you can check to see if you’re in a dream,” Ariadne said, walking over. She'd got rid of her jacket and was now wearing a low cut t-shirt. Arthur and Eames exchanged bemused glances. The Mark perked up considerably.

“Ah,” Eames said, “the old-fashioned approach.”

Arthur snorted. “At this point, whatever works.” He nodded at Ariadne to carry on, and although she shot them all a look which clearly said, “men are ridiculous,” she got the Marks' attention, and that was really all they were interested in.

* * * * *

“Next time, you can do that,” Ariadne said to Eames when they were awake.

“Of course, should have thought of it myself.”

“Hmm,” Ariadne said, as if she didn't believe that he hadn't. He shrugged. It was all the same to him.

The Mark looked around without acknowledging them and then got up to stare out of the window. Whatever he saw there must have convinced him that he was in reality because he just nodded at them and left. After a quiet conversation on the phone, the men with guns left with him.

“Well, that was fun,” Eames said. “Let's never do it again.”

Arthur and Ariadne nodded. “Deal.”

“Drink?”

* * * * * *

Eames watched in some amusement as Ariadne disappeared with a tall blond onto the dance floor. Arthur came back with their drinks and sat next to him.

“Where's Ariadne?”

Eames pointed. “Getting her groove on.”

Arthur's brow puckered but he looked over at where Eames indicated and smiled. “At least she's enjoying herself.”

“Implying you're not?” Eames asked, expression neutral.

“I never said that,” Arthur replied. He sank back into the velvet cushion of the booth they were sitting in and closed his eyes. “Thanks,” he said after a moment, so quietly that Eames almost missed it over the sound of the music.

“Any time,” Eames replied, just as quietly.

Then Arthur opened his eyes and took a sip of his drink, and Ariadne came back flushed and happy, with the man she'd gone off with nowhere in sight, and Eames sank his hand into his pocket, felt the reassuring presence of his totem and decided that he could get used to this.

Whatever this was.


End file.
